


Purr

by waffle_Atronach



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Barbs, Begging, F/M, Khajiit - Freeform, Oral, Redguard - Freeform, Size Difference, Some pain, Thieves Guild, woman is clueless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-17 03:00:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16966431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waffle_Atronach/pseuds/waffle_Atronach
Summary: Original Prompt:Not enough Khajiit around hereDate: 2017-03-02 10:12 pm (UTC)From: (Anonymous)*peeks out of trash can* Um, hi. So, I love Khajiit. And I just want a story about an elf or human woman's first time with her male Khajiit companion, with an emphasis on differences, and especially on oral. Do Khajiit have textured tongues? Don't even get me started on purring, for both fluff and smut. Do they really have barbs and what if they did and they were actually not painful but the best thing ever?I'll leave other races and classes up to you. Personally, I prefer to play mages, and my second favorite race is Imperial, but I'm good with anything. My only request is that you don't use the Inigo follower for this, because his author says specifically that Inigo doesn't like you romantically, and I think people should respect that.Likes:size difference, texture difference, culture and race difference, fluff, curiosity, slow burn, and snark.Dislikes:non-con, pain, gore, too much angst, scat or bathroom stuff, slut or body shamingThank you! *dives back into dumpster*





	Purr

**Author's Note:**

> If you know nothing about Khajiit, they come in Giant, housecat, giant housecat, M'aiq, "I'm not a Bosmer," and "I'm not from an anime." This is entirely to explain why they look different every game. :P
> 
> （＾・ω・＾✿）

                When Che returned from robbing Markarth blind and entered the Ragged Flagon she instantly knew two things: One, there was a new Guildmate, and two, he was never going to fit through the standard window.

                “Brynjolf,” she said, casually sidling over to the Guild Second, “Why is there a Khajiit man the size of Mercer’s ego in here?”

                Brynjolf snorted and eyed his Redguard Guild sister wryly. “I think it’d take more than one Jaguar-Man to rival Mercer’s ego, lass.”

                _“That’s_ a Jaguar-Man?” she gaped, taking in the dark-furred Khajiit anew. She’d heard of the Jaguar-Men—there weren’t many in the Legion who hadn’t. And while her Legion days were long behind her—okay, a few months—she hadn’t forgotten her experiences. Listening to the stories of the Dominion forces in the Great War from some of the older members was a common nightly occurrence, and no few tales had centered on the fierce Khajiit warriors, every one of them dark furred and yellow eyed, close to seven feet tall and with tails that could knock the sword out of a veteran’s hand.

                “His name’s Do’Hir,” Brynjolf informed her, taking in her interest with amusement. “He’s not going to bite you, lass. He’s been rather quiet, actually.”

                “Why’s he here?” she inquired, curious.

                Waving a hand as he turned away, her mentor suggested, “Ask him yourself.”

                Quickly, Che turned in her job to Delvin, ignoring his biting remark at her leaving before grabbing more work, as if she hadn’t been in and out on jobs constantly since joining, and, deciding nothing ventured, nothing gained, bounced over to the Khajiit, who blinked enormous yellow eyes at her, looking as if she’d broken him out of his thoughts.

                “Hello,” she said with an eager grin, “I’m Che, the second newest Guildmate and I’m positively _dying_ to ease my curiosity, and figured a Khajiit would sympathize. Can I get you a mead?”

                Do’Hir stared at her a moment, then laughed. “This one could use a drink,” he said. “This one’s candor is refreshing. No one has had the nerve to ask Do’Hir outright yet.”

                Che shrugged, grabbing a mead from Vekel and plopping down across from him, feeling bizarrely small. Not an entirely new experience in the Nord homeland, but never this extreme. “Give them a bit. They’ll get over it. I mean, you have a bit of resting bitch face going, but so does Vex.”

                “Hey!”

                Che blew the Nord woman a kiss and turned back to the newest Guildmate. “So?”

                “Che first,” he said, prying the cork from the bottle with a single claw.

                “I came up with the Legion, fought one battle, hated it, and summarily got myself kicked out for thievery,” she summarized, not missing a beat.

                “This one does not like to fight?” he ventured, toying with his bottle and examining her.

                “I don’t like to fight _stupidly,”_ she corrected. “And if my Nord commander had been less interested in an honorable death and Shovenshnata or whatever, he wouldn’t have ignored the scout’s warning of the ambush site ahead. As it was, I was more interested in staying alive.”

                “But they did not kick Che out for that,” he noted, narrowed eyes taking her in, evaluating her. Che was rather used to that by now and didn’t let it bother her much.

                “Nah. We blundered in, me and a few others got away because we’re fast and don’t have qualms about hiding from big, angry, hammer-wielding idiots that want us dead, went back to Solitude, I helped myself to my Legate’s wine waiting to report and he charged me with stealing it. And disorderly conduct. And something about laying around his office in my knickers and throwing up on him. I had nearly just died and everything was pretty hazy by that point.”

                Do’Hir laughed again, showing off very white teeth the size of her thumb and sharper than Vex’s wit. “How old is this one?” he asked, and Che realized he was evaluating her for a reason. She grinned; this looked suspiciously like a job might be involved.

                “Twenty-six,” she replied, then held up a hand. “I know I don’t act it. Never saw much point in acting all grown-up and miserable. Like Mercer.”

                A bit of mead spat out of Delvin’s mouth at the next table, but she knew he’d been eavesdropping anyway.

                Putting down his bottle, Do’Hir nodded as if he’d made up his mind. “Che. This one has heard much of you since he arrived. Though he has heard you’re somewhat reckless.”

                “I’m a thief,” she pointed out dryly.

                “Yes, and Khajiit appreciates curiosity. This one will tell you what brings him to Skyrim.” Steepling his claws he began, “Do’Hir had a sister. She was not a thief like Do’Hir, no, she was a merchant, and a good one. She sold many gems and valuables to the smooth-skins. Then one double-crossed Do’Hir’s dear sister.” The Khajiit’s eyes flashed with suppressed fury, and Che shivered a bit. “The Imperial seized Do’Hir’s sister’s caravan and goods, accused her of spying for the Dominion, and executed her without trial.”

                “That’s…” “Typical,” she wanted to say. Probably not the best idea with his tail lashing like that, his ears flat to his head and his whiskers slicked back, “…terrible.”

                “Yes. And all to claim what he had ordered from her to begin with. The Light That Pierces: A dagger carved from a single diamond, bound in gold, with a ruby the size of an eye atop the pommel.” He leaned forward. “Do’Hir wants that dagger back, and the lying Imperial dealt with.”

                Che looked at him uncertainly, “Isn’t that more a Brotherhood request?”

                “The Brotherhood does not operate in Cyrodiil anymore,” he pointed out inarguably, “and no one in the Guild down there will help Do’Hir. And so he has come to Skyrim, to see if his fellow thieves have more spine in Riften than in the Imperial City.”

                Pursing her lips, she glanced at Bryn, who looked intrigued. “Why’d they turn it down?”

                The Khajiit sighed. “They say it is suicide. The Imperial is a mage, living in a tower. He has many guards and the tower has one entrance, with no cover. The walls are sheer with narrow windows until further up than a grapple could reach. Do’Hir can scale the walls, it is no trouble, but he cannot fit through the windows. He needs a partner light and small enough for him to carry up the windows, sneaky enough to get the dagger, and skilled enough to pass the guards.”

                Thinking about this, she sat back, sneaking another glance at Bryn, who gave a resigned wave of his hand, obviously sensing that she wanted to go. Perking right up now that she had her mentor’s go-ahead—not that the lack of it would have stopped her—she whirled back around, short black hair fluffing out with the motion. “Will I do?”

                Do’Hir’s smile showed off all his teeth. “This one was hoping Che would offer.”

 

* * *

 

                “How do you do it?” Che groaned. Four days over the border and she felt as if she’d lost ten pounds in sweat alone. “And you in fur!”

                Do’Hir turned to look at her with a raised brow ridge, the whiskers sticking out of it the only differentiating feature. At least she knew he wasn’t actually black-furred now; once the sun hit him, he was a deep red-brown with black leopard spots. That was now a thing she knew. “This one is aware her people hale from the desert, correct?” he asked, laughing at her.

                “That’s a dry heat!” she whined, wincing at how she sounded. No one would ever accuse her of being mature, but last thing she wanted was to cross the line into brat territory.

                Luckily, her partner only laughed a little more obviously. “This one told Che to pack light clothes. Skyrim Guild armor is useful, but it is warm.”

                “Fine. You stay here,” she said, stomping past him and shoving her pack into his stomach, which was right around her chest. Leaving him looking after her curiously, she returned to the village they’d just skirted around and examined the clothing left out to dry. It wouldn’t win any fashion awards, but it was serviceable, and much better suited to the climate. Slipping down, she took a cream linen shift and beige overtunic with half-sleeves, still short enough to give her mobility while not eliciting comment. By the time she returned, the Jaguar-Man had set up a small camp by one of the many deep streams nearby, and was cooking lunch. Her stomach growled at the thought.

                “Did you catch those yourself?” she asked, blinking a the fish roasting on sticks, something she could never manage to do without half of them falling into the fire.

                Do’Hir snorted. “No, this one simply asked them politely to leap out of the water into his claws.”

                Che huffed, in no mood to be sassed at, and strode up-stream a bit, looking around before stripping out of her armor, turning it inside out with a grimace and laying it over the branches of a bush to dry, then wading into the water in her smalls, sighing as the sun-warmed stream washed the sweat and road-dust away. In a much better frame of mind, she set about washing all the grime off, humming to herself off-key until she realized she wasn’t alone.

                Turning, she spotted Do’Hir waiting on the bank, examining her with an expression she didn’t recognize, though she hardly claimed to be an expert in Khajiit facial movements. “Lunch ready?” she asked, squeezing water out of her hair. She didn’t bother to cover herself, though he could probably see everything fairly well through her soaked smalls: It wasn’t like a giant cat man would find a human attractive, after all.

                Those slitted yellow eyes flicked up to her brown ones. “Yes,” he said simply, and Che could swear he was examining her reaction for…something. “This one will be back in a bit. He has…things to take care of.”

                Che shrugged. “Alright. See you in a bit.”

                He nodded curtly and vanished, leaving her to climb out of the water and make her way back to camp, sitting on a mossy rock and looking up at the sky as the sun and air dried the water from her. Hot Cyrodiil might be, but it had been a while since she’d been able to feel the sun on her skin like this, the air caressing and cooling her. She was dry all too soon, dressed and combing the damp from her hair when Do’Hir returned, taking in the dress with a little quirk of his mouth.

                “Che looks maidenly,” he teased.

                “Good. Bring on the suitors; I’ll rob them blind,” she barred her teeth in a mock-predatory gesture, expecting him to laugh. His eyes widened and his tail lashed once, mouth open. She uncurled her fingers from the mock-claws she’d made and gave him a concerned look. “You alright?”

                “This one is wondering if Che usually greets her admirers with her dagger and loot sack,” he told her, sitting and helping himself to the largest of the fish remaining after Che had cheerfully taken first pick.

                “Che would have to have admirers for that,” she snorted, poking at the coals with a stick.

                “Che does not have admirers?” he queried, tilting his head to the side curiously and ignoring the way she imitated his accent.

                “I apparently evoke a very strong ‘little sister’ response in anyone I’d want to toss me into bed,” she sighed. “And the ones that overlook that response are typically not only the type I’d _not_ want tossing me into bed, but would stab for trying.”

                His head was still tilted, and she found it disturbingly cute. No grown, sentient being should remind her that strongly of a confused kitten. Only he didn’t look confused, he looked somewhat gleeful. She briefly considered stabbing him for taking such pleasure in her woeful love life. “Che wishes to be tossed?”

                She stared at him, wondering what was going through his head. Yes, she wanted to be tossed! She wanted to be roughed up a little. She wanted to be pinned down and used thoroughly and love every minute of it! “I’d settle for not being treated like I’m going to break,” she sighed, morose. She blushed, then laughed awkwardly, “But there’s no reason for me to bemoan my sex life until you want to stopper your ears. We’re only a day or so away, right?”

                “Right,” Do’Hir said, shaking his head and getting down to business. Pushing the awkwardness aside, they started reviewing the plan.

 

* * *

 

                Che whistled. “That’s…that’s some tower,” she said, all she could manage as she took in the fortified keep they were all set to rob. Glancing back at Do’Hir’s serious expression, she blurted, “What’s he compensating for?”

                The Jaguar-Man snorted a laugh. “It is a massive tower jutting straight up into the sky: Che should use her imagination.”

                “Well, we made it this far, at least,” she said, hands on the hips of her purloined tunic as she examined the place. “Shall we camp, or shall we go on?”

                “We go on,” he said, “And when night comes and it is cooler, this one should change back into her Guild gear.”

                She nodded, “Got it. Let’s go.”

                They traveled the rest of the day, taking a short break to eat a sketchy dinner and for Che to put her Guild gear back on. Do’Hir stared at her again, and she raised an eyebrow over her shoulder. “Wondering what you look like without fur?” she asked, and he laughed again. By the time they reached the tower, it was well passed sundown, and she was glad of both the Guild leathers and the excursion.

                Standing at the base of the tower, looking up, she could see why some other thieves would quail at it. She was, a bit, but the bigger part of her thrummed with anticipation, her blood rushing in her veins, excitement shimmering along every nerve.

                “Ready?” he asked, examining her again.

                “By the Eight, I love this job,” she grinned ferally, and his eyes widened again, and she could swear his breath caught.

                Clearing his throat, he knelt with his back to her, “Che will be able to hold on, yes?”

                “Rode wilder things than you,” she teased. “At least you won’t try to buck me off.”

                “Che is cruel to tease poor Do’Hir so,” he scolded lightly, making a small sound in his chest that rumbled through her as she lay against his back.

                “I’m not too heavy, am I?” she asked worriedly.

                “Not at all,” he assured her, starting to climb. It was a vastly different experience than anything Che had done before. She hadn’t ridden on someone’s back since she was a child, and clinging to Do’Hir as he scaled the walls, putting more and more distance from the ground and sometimes flat-out _jumping_ from one hold to the next, was nothing like the short rides she remembered. Her heart still banged against her chest, sending her blood rushing through her, laced with adrenaline and a new, inopportune awareness of another living being pressed against her most intimate parts. With her legs wrapped firmly around Do’Hir’s middle, her breasts pressed against his shoulder-blades, it was impossible not to notice that he vibrated slightly as he breathed, and she was rubbed against him every time he lunged upwards.

                She might need some alone time after this was over.

                “Che,” he hissed, catching her attention, “the first windows.”

                After that, it was nerve-wracking. Do’Hir would climb to a window and she’d peer in, searching for an empty room, or at least one that didn’t have a bloody guard within easy sight. They had to travel four more stories before they found one, and by then, she was very worried about his ability to cling long enough for her to get back, and then climb them both down.

                Nevertheless, she tumbled through the window and looked around.

                Her first real Guild job, raiding Goldenglow Estate, had stuck in her mind for a long time as one of the most harrowing things she’d done. This was ten times worse. Counting the guard patrols, slipping in and out of rooms, never sure what was beyond the next door and trying to pick locks between guards…Che lifted several bottles of strong alcohol, certain she’d need it later.

                At last, she found the room she sought. The Imperial matching the drawing and rough description Do’Hir had mentioned lay in the bed, sound asleep. The dagger was mounted on the wall above him, a prized trophy. Creeping to the bed, she looked the man over. He wasn’t much to look at, he certainly didn’t look like the kind of person that would doom an entire caravan of innocent people just for a trinket. And yet, he had done just that not two months before. It didn’t even look like he was having trouble sleeping over it. In fact, if the way he was shifting restlessly was any indication, his dreams were rather good.

                Letting instincts and some imp of the perverse guide her, Che gently drew his arms down by his side, straddled him so that she was kneeling on them, pinning them to the bed, and leaned up to get the dagger. There was very little chance of her being able to get the thing without waking him, but her gamble paid off. He woke, confused, groaned to see a woman above him, and tried to reach for her rather than call the guards. Che smiled evilly and placed a hand over his mouth, wagging the dagger at him. “Now, now, I’m not here for that.”

                The man stared up at her, eyes widening and sweat breaking out on his forehead as he realized he wasn’t dreaming, he was actually in very real danger, and his hands were pinned and he couldn’t cry out. “I have a friend,” she informed him musingly, “A friend who dearly cared for his sister. A sister you had killed, for this,” waving the dagger again, Che gave him an admonishing look. “He wanted to kill you himself, but he’s a practical sort. He willing to settle for you dying on the thing you traded his sister’s life for.”

                The Imperial tried to buck her off, and Che plunged the dagger down without further ceremony. He knew why he was dying, might even have been able to appreciate the ironic justice of it, though she doubted it, and her job was done. She wasn’t afraid to kill, but she was hardly going to linger over it, either.

                Cleaning the dagger, she looked around, stole a few more valuables just laying around (including a bottle of very expensive Colovian brandy), and went to the window, looking down and around to see if she was on the same side of the tower as her partner. She was in luck. Do’Hir was below her and to her right. She caught his attention with a light whistle, then grinned and showed him the dagger before returning to the bed, rolling it in a pillow so it didn’t stab her, and shoving it in her pack.

                “Che has done it,” Do’Hir said from the window, teeth bared in a fierce smile.

                “Was there every any doubt?” she grinned, striding over, then squeaking a bit when he reached in and pulled her to him, resting his forehead against hers with his eyes shut, just breathing a moment and seeming overcome by emotion. “You alright?”

                “This one will be fine,” he assured her, releasing her. “His sister is avenged. Now perhaps Do’Hir should take his dear partner back down to the ground, and they should hasten away?”

                “Good plan.”

 

* * *

 

                Whatever ill luck was besetting the Guild in Riften, it didn’t seem to have followed them south. Do’Hir and Che travelled throughout the night before stopping, the Khajiit climbing them once more up to a cave so far up the rock face they never would have known it was there had they not seen bats returning to it. As it was, it was more than large enough for Do’Hir to climb through, and inside was a cavern covered in bat guano, but a tunnel leading further in proved to be dry and free of excrement, with a small hole in the roof letting in air, light, and a small stream of water.

                “Someone is smiling on us,” she noted.

                Her partner had laughed that rumbling laugh of his again, and started up the fire as she changed back into her stolen tunic. They’d celebrated with the wine, drinking straight form the bottles, dancing and capering about the fire until, quite dizzy, they’d fallen over in a tangle of boots.

                Che giggled, still crushed to Do’Hir’s chest from where he’d been swinging her around. “Oopsie,” she said, then looked up. “Do’Hir? Do’Hir, we fell down.”

                He made a sound that she could only describe as an irritated meow.

                “Do’Hir? Do’Hir, you meowed,” she said, climbing up him as best she could with his arms still clasped around her to pat his face. “Do’Hir? Are you sleepy? I’m not a sleep toy, Do’Hir…Ah, whatever,” she said, plopping her head down onto her temporary Khajiit mattress and letting Oblivion claim her.

                Somehow, she escaped a hangover. She wasn’t exactly sure how that happened, but she wasn’t looking a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak. But the lack of headache allowed another sensation to slowly bring her awake. Do’Hir was purring, the sound rumbling through her chest and into her bones, and, thanks to the belt pouch pressing firmly into the cleft between her legs, rumbling right through her clit, too.

                Che bit back a moan, burring her face in Do’Hir’s chest and trying not to wake him. His arms still trapped her against him, and it was all she could do to not thrust down against the bag. He’d probably be horrified if he woke up to find her molesting him so, but she couldn’t _move_ , and it felt so, so good…

                Do’Hir mumbled in his sleep and shifted, moving the bag away from her, and Che couldn’t help the sob of need the loss elicited. His eyes snapped open, and she froze. Hands that had been moving in restless circles over her back roamed her body a moment, reminding her just how very long it had been since she’d had anybody, but Do’Hir was easily twice her size, Beastfolk, probably thought bedding a human was as disgusting as many humans thought bedding a Khajiit was, and…wasn’t there something about barbs?

                Che shrieked in surprise as she was rolled over, the Jaguar-Man looking down at her, face in shadow except for those glowing yellow eyes. She stared up at him with lips parted in surprise, nearly panting in want, nipples pressing upward through the thin fabric of her clothing. “Did this one need something?” he asked, and she could hear a smirk in his voice. Something slid up the inside of her leg, drawing the tunic up over her knee, up her thigh…Since his hands were firmly planted on either side of her, her pulse quickened just that bit more to realize what he was doing with his tail.

                Feeling both breathless and a bit stupid, Che came to the crashing realization that not only _could_ Do’Hir be attracted to humans, he most certainly _was_. “Only if you need something in return,” she replied, feeling shy suddenly. He was huge, and strange, and that made her want him all the more, only she wasn’t sure exactly how to proceed.

                Do’Hir took the problem right out of her hands with a low growl, then her tunic was up by her hips and Che was shrieking again as the most amazing sensation rushed through her core. Those huge, clawed hands were under her ass, lifting her to press against his tongue, his amazing, dexterous tongue, licking up and through her labia and around her clit, rimming her entrance before returning to the rest. Long and rough and just the right amount of pleasure and discomfort…

                She saw stars as she came, then realized dimly that he wasn’t stopping. All her former lovers, if they even had bothered to do this at all, would have sat right up and shoved themselves inside her at this point, thrusting haphazardly until they came, considering their job pleasuring her done and taking their turn. Apparently, if what she could understand of Do’Hir’s growls was to be believed, that was the furthest thing from his mind. No, he loved the way she sounded, the way she tasted, the way she _writhed_. Words stopped for both of them as he slid his tongue inside her, the dual coarse-silky texture of it caressing her inner walls and stopping her breath. He thrust it in and out of her rapidly, swirling it inside her and flicking the very tip, the slight scrape of his canines against her labia both frightening and arousing. She had just about made up her mind to wiggle away from them when the tip of his tongue found her g-spot, focusing on that with a will, the pad of his thumb moving to rub against her back entrance. Che wailed as she came again, the sensations rapidly becoming too much, clutching at his head and begging him to stop, then to never stop, wriggling and writhing and cumming until all she could do was chant his name, then not even that.

                He finally rose over her, taking in the way she lay, limp and exhausted, with a great deal of satisfaction in his eyes. Reaching down, he undid her belt and pulled it away from her, then pulled her tunic off gently, leaving her chamise and gently trailing the back of his fingers up her side. Her nipples hardened at the contact, and his eyes flickered to them. “Does Che wish to continue?”

                She had to ask. “Are there barbs?”

                Do’Hir hesitated, then sat back, unlacing the front of his pants as she managed to push herself up to her elbows, grabbing his hands. “Will they hurt?” she asked, examining his face.

                He shrugged. “This one has not lain with a human before,” he admitted. “They might, but they won’t damage lovely Che.”

                Conflicting emotions went through her. A tremor of fear, a little hitch in her chest at the way he spoke of her, of the loving tone she’d done nothing to deserve, but what she focused on was the sudden surge of _want_ at the thought of whatever was making that sizable bulge inside of her, stretching her open, and Eight help her, but the thought of a bit of pain only made it worse.

                “Don’t show me,” she demanded, voice shaking, “just take me. Please take me.” Her voice whimpered with lust, and his eyes flared before he was on her again, hands curling around the back of her thighs to spread her legs, lifting her so that marvelous tongue could rasp over her nipples as she tangled her fingers in the fur on the back of his head.

                Che squeaked again, abruptly airborne, landing on all fours on the unused bedding they’d set up the night before.

                “This one wanted to be tossed,” he reminded her, jerking her hips up and back so her arms buckled, nipples rasping over the fur of the bedroll. Caressing her rear, he asked tightly, “Che is certain?”

                “Oh, Dibella. If you don’t fuck me right this instant I’m going to—” The words died in her throat as his hand curled under her stomach, caressing her clit and lifting her so his hips could slam forward, burying the head of something that felt larger than her whole hand inside her dripping cunt. “Oh…” she moaned quietly.

                “Che?” he gasped, a note of worry in his tone.

                “Oh. Oh, yes,” she gasped, head collapsing forward onto the bedding. “Oh, more. _please_ , Do’Hir! _PLEASE!”_

                “This one had no idea his Che was such a glutton for punishment,” he said, incredulous chuckle vibrating down through his cock and into her, making her push back. The head of him was finally fully inside, rubbing the first few inches of her entrance as it stretched painfully around it. She was gasping, drooling, rubbing shamelessly in the hand that held her hips up as she tried to force more of him into her.

                “This one must be still, and relax for Do’Hir,” he said, laying her down as he pressed down atop her, spreading her legs wide. “Relax, Che, or this will not work.”

                She gulped in a great breath of air, nodding, then swiftly broke that promise as he slid further into her, and she felt the first set of barbs. They were flexible, it seemed, not tearing or maiming as she’d feared, but an added friction, that pushed into crevices and nerve endings. The effect was not unlike his tongue, just the right amount of smooth and rough, and Dibella help her, but she could feel each rumbling breath of his right through them, the vibrations unlike anything she’d ever felt before.

                “All of it!” She sobbed, trying to push herself back.

                “It will hurt!” he protested, holding her hip still and sounding strained for the first time in their acquaintance.

                _“YES!_ Yes, hurt me, please! I want it all, right now, pounding into me. Make me scream, please!” she half-yelled, half-moaned, casting a pleading look over her shoulder.

                Do’Hir snarled, burying his face in the curve of her shoulder as his hips slammed forward, apparently unable to take her wanton begging. Her breath left her as with three massive surges, he was inside her, pistoning in and out as if he would never stop, cursing and praising her for being so tight, so wet, so perfect. Che’s back arched up into him and he slid an arm around her front, plucking and teasing her nipples, then roughly grabbing her breasts before going back to the peaks. Her eyes closed, lost in absolute ecstasy at the wonderful, painful, pleasurable friction that filled her. His hips slapped into her backside at the same time he hit the end of her channel, those lovely barbs dragging at her walls with each pass.

                Moaning in bliss, Che added whimpering to that as his claws pricked her hips and his thrusting sped up, became deeper, and she realized he was reaching his end just as the biggest orgasm she’d ever had ripped through her, rippling her flesh over his as he cursed in surprise. Her vision whited out, and Che ceased being aware of anything but the sensations in her core, all the barbs suddenly stiffening as Do’Hir came, fully inside her, his balls rubbing against her clit with his small thrusts, and though they weren’t sharp, it hurt and mixed with the rubbing of her nub and Che decided dreamily that she’d actually had enough for once as blackness soothed over her.

 

* * *

 

                Do’Hir was purring again when she came too. He’d rolled over, and she was laying on his chest again. The rumbles felt pleasant but she was sated, for the first time in her life. Smiling, she reached up and combed her fingers through the ruff at the side of his face. “Was it good for you?” she asked, hoping by his evident pleasure that it had been, but needing to hear it.

                “If Che is amenable, this one could become quite addicted to this,” Do’Hir replied happily.

                “Che is very, very amenable,” she assured him, earning another chuckle. “So, sleep, wash up, eat, fuck me against the wall so I can watch your face this time, and then back to Skyrim. Good plan?”

                “Good plan,” Do’Hir murmured, and continued to purr.


End file.
